


A Girl Can Dream

by Toomuchlovefortoomany



Category: The Hour (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, I'm Sorry, Introspection, Romance, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 13:44:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17044823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toomuchlovefortoomany/pseuds/Toomuchlovefortoomany
Summary: In which all Bel Rowley's pretences of being Head Girl are shattered; she makes a vow to a dear friend.





	A Girl Can Dream

**Author's Note:**

> I So... I finished The Hour recently and apart from the classic reaction of why on Earth this show both has little recognition and was canceled in the first place (!?!?!?) I was inspired to write a sad, sad little piece set just after the finale. I did so adore Bel and Freddie together -and truly I don't think I can ever get over or forget this brilliant show (on so many levels!) This is partly drawn from my own "is he- isn't he?" Debate after I cried for an hour (ironically so!) After the ending. Spoilers I suppose, but I mean... 
> 
> It's quite short, apologies, but nevertheless-
> 
> Enjoy!

It is dark outside, and the stark white of the walls of the hospital are unbearably perfunctory. The last five minutes have felt like an hour, and Bel Rowley is tearing her perfect nails apart with her teeth in anxiety. Suitably, it is raining -she can see the drops are drip, drip, dripping down the outside of the window.

The logical, cold -producer- part of her that she has brought forward and accumulated and kindled throughout her career is telling her that Frederick Lyon -in all reasonable probability- died tonight. It is telling her that he bled endless crimson and scarlet tones on the grass outside the building he so loved working in (with the woman he so loved working with.) That he was beaten to death and crumpled up and tossed aside like a worthless, broken puppet. Limbs broken like sticks and skin split like paint.

That remote, dispassionate side of her is almost useless now. She does not want it and she despises it so. All of her vitality is being melted by it -her vivacity drawn from her fingertips in a drip, drip, drip, to its inevitable evaporation just like the rain outside. She wonders: Is this what she deserves? Is she a monster -or is what she has done redeemable? Is this love loss simply what it means to be human?

What she has done. What she has done -letting him go in the first place? Trusting him to look after himself? Loving him. Her very own Hamartia.

The fluorescent lights are burning her being, and the horrid, festering waiting is so very painful. With a click of her heels and forcing of shaking limbs, she hovers outside. Pitter-patter, the rain's pencils scratch on all surfaces and colour them blue-grey in melancholy.

She breathes smoke as if oxygen, shaking hands fumbling to shield her matches from those little daggers. The sugar-coated poison of these beautiful dove grey swirls are colourless and bring a familiarity to her senses. It smells of the office and home -It smells of him and his threadbare waistcoats too.

“Not even the rain has such small hands.”

She can almost see him -hear him- sauntering through the rain and puddles. Clumsily, distracted and hyper-aware as ever. Half-playful and half-sincere in his faltering; dancing on the membrane between the joviality of his ‘moneypenny's and the heart that he has so freely given to his ‘exquisite’ Bel Rowley. 

He is greeting her casually, and then telling her that she is stamping on that poor cigarette like it killed the last person she kissed.

She turns her head. The soulful, hopeful, scrappy, courageous part of her that so rarely prevails anymore sets sail for a brief moment. It takes advantage of her wavering self-discipline and brings fear with its optimism. It lets her imagine a moment that Gilbert and Maud will one day be so humorously in the glove compartment. That they will be happy -nay, ecstatic.

That they will dream of nowhere else. 

That they will dream of no one else. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it, dear one person who probably will find and reach this! Please leave some kudos and/or a comment on your way out -it would be much appreciated.


End file.
